


RUB AND SCRUB

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bath Time, Comfort, M/M, Mech/Mech, Warped Reality (AU), familiar touch, some sad but then much happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift requires physical maintenance after his space adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RUB AND SCRUB

Drift rubs the dent in the side of his helm.  He had almost forgotten what a good aim Ratchet had.  “Couldn’t he have smacked me for being stupid before he fixed me?  And did he really have to scold me?  Not like I’m a new frame,” Drift pouts as he punches in the codes for his hab suite.  His blue optics take in the emptiness of the room.  He shutters them.  “That’s right.  Percy was really mad the last time I saw him.”

He rubs at the dent in his helm again.  “Guess I did deserve the sound smack after all.”  He vents and heads for the private wash rack that being third in command allowed him.

He was a bit surprised by that, though honestly not as surprised as seeing Megatron on the Lost Light.  Drift chuckles remembering how  **that** particular meeting had gone.  Rodimus had welcomed him back almost sheepishly, but it had been Megatron who had clapped his shoulder and welcomed him back onto the ship as its third in command.  The old warlord had even laughed at the sword to his throat.  Drift had been cornered and debriefed by Ultra Magnus after that.  Then Ratchet had drug his aft to the medbay.  The lack of Ambulon had been painfully obvious as had the quiet Firstaide.

Drift had taken all of it in stride, however.   _ Just another day on the Lost Light _ , he had joked.  And though he had been careful with how he looked around, Ratchet had smiled knowingly at him with a wink.  Drift had stuttered and made excuses about wanting to track any changes.  Drift scrubs at his optics as his finials heat and twitch.   _ Grump of the Universe Ratch might be, but he’s such a romantic at spark. _  Drift’s optics dim as he looks at his empty quarters again.  He vents a heavy sigh and heads into the wash rack.

The patter of water fills Drift’s audios.  He sheds his swords on a nearby table and steps into the still cold spray.  The white frame shivers at the cold water that was quickly warming.  Drift heaves and braces his hands against a wall.  The fall of warming water against his frame works to calm his processors and spark.  He lets the soft noise fill his audios as he drifts off in a light meditation. 

He is so inwardly focused that he reacts with full battle protocols when he feels something swipe softly at his back.  He elbows the other mech in the side and carries around to slam them against the shower wall.  He grabs the wrist he thought held a weapon in a firm hold.  He presses into the mech’s chest with the flat of his palm.  His optics are stern and scolding as he glances up at the other mech’s face.  His stance and battle readiness  flee a moment later when it registers who he has pressed against the shower wall.

“Percy…”  Drift loosens his grip further and stares with wide optics at the large scientist who he had yet to see since he arrived back on the Lost Light some hours ago.  “What are you-“

A blue hand had cupped Drift’s helm and brought him forward into a deep kiss.  Perceptor smiles into it and deepens the press of their mouths by running his glossa over Drift’s.  Percy pulls back with one last swipe over Drift’s lips.  Blue digits lightly touch an audio.  A thumb pushes softly at the derma beneath a surprised optic.  The petting digits slide up to a finial and stroke little which makes the swordsmech tremble and dart forward into Perceptor’s embrace.

Drift presses in close to the familiar spark energy.  He drowns in the welcoming comfort of Percy’s field.  He feels larger arms encompass his smaller frame.  He rubs his black digits against red plating.  He pushes closer, trying to bring himself into as much physical contact as possible.  His vents hiccup as he does so.  He becomes overwhelmed yet the light touch of a soaped sponge runs along his upper back works to calm him.  He relaxes against Perceptor’s frame and shutters his optics.  He listens to the pulse of a spark that was familiar as his own.

Percy moves away from the way and directs himself and Drift under the warm spray of water.  He carefully washes away the collected dirt on Drift’s frame, returning it to its pristine white finish.  He chuckles at the small dent in Drift’s helm but makes no other comment when he hears the whimper of embarrassment from the smaller mech in his arms.  He lingers over pink finial tips that twitch in the wake of the passing sponge.  When Percy is satisfied with Drift’s upper back, shoulders and helm, he coaxes the swordsmech to step away from him.

“Percy,” Drift shies away from looking into the blue optic above him.

Perceptor lowers himself to his knees and silently begins washing Drift’s chest.  For now he concentrates on washing away the surface dirt.  They would have more time to detail.  He hears Drift squeak as the sponge glides over a tickle spot on the white chassis.  A devious look enters the scientist’s optics as he applies the sponge to the tickle spot again and his digits to the other spots he knew on Drift’s chassis.

“No!”  Drift wails and wiggles, descending into a giggling mess that lands in Percy’s lap.  He throws his arms around broad red shoulders and begs for mercy.

The scientist returns the swordsmech’s clinging embrace.  He rests his chin on top of Drift’s helm.  “I’ve missed you to, love.”  Percy pecks a kiss on Drift’s helm before returning to his work of cleaning the dirty speedster.

Drift’s smile is wide as he settles in and let’s Perceptor finish washing him.  His optics dim as a plan to return the favor as soon as Percy was finished.  He purrs his engine and makes his devious plans.


End file.
